


You Can Run From The Law (But It Catches Up)

by notanightlight



Series: Love In A Time Of Train Heists [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wild West AU, bandits, period-typical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanightlight/pseuds/notanightlight
Summary: Gimli has come a long way from working on the railway.  Riding with Legs the Longshot has finally given him that freedom this new land always promised, but everything will change when he and the rest of the Fellowship ride into Dreadwood.  In a town that the law doesn't serve, a band of outlaws may have to do.Sequel to The Earth Moves Under Our Feet (It's A Loco Motion)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably not make much sense without reading the previous story.

_Now…_

  


The air seemed heavy.  Thick enough to make time run slow as hazy morning light filtered through the building’s tiny windows.

Legs was staring at the bars, face uncharacteristically somber.  His hands hung loosely at his sides.  Every so often Gimli would see his fingers twitch the way they did when he desperately wanted the feel of his pistols in his grip, but other than that, he was still.  Legs was usually a man of motion and mirth, so his stillness just put a point on how far out of their depth the situation had become.

“How the hell did we get here, Gimli?” Legs asked quietly, a note of disbelief in his voice.

The sound of the crowd outside was rising, and Gimli could make out their names muffled through the jail’s walls as the hollering increased.   

He reached out and took Legs’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.  He tried for a smile as well, but he could tell that it was a weak attempt.   

“I guess, we’re just going to get what we deserve.”

  


_Then…_

  


If there ever was such a thing as the perfect time for riding horseback, Gimli was fairly certain it had to be an autumn afternoon like this one.  The weather was mild enough that his shirt didn’t stick to his back and he wasn’t overwhelmed by the smell of sweaty horse.  He might almost say that an afternoon like this was pleasant.  Probably would have, too, if he wasn’t _actually_ riding a horse. 

“If you were just fixin’ to sulk the whole way into town, why didn’t ya just stay with the rest of the gang, Gim?” Legs asked, voice characteristically chipper despite his words.  

Gimli just amended the mass of complaints he’d been stringing together to include a certain over-tall gunslinger who knew perfectly well that Gimli had never gotten used to horseback and never would.  That was the reason he always rode double with Legs and let them load the bags on the chestnut mare that was nominally his.  He never got along well with that mare.  Just couldn’t seem to train her the way Legs had trained Arod. 

Legs tipped his head back, laughing freely at Gimli’s ongoing diatribe.  Gimli just tucked his thumbs a little further under Legs’s belt, secure in the knowledge that Legs couldn’t see him grinning behind his back.

It was a familiar script for the both of them after a solid two years of riding together.  For reasons Gimli would never understand, Legs was very good at going unnoticed when he wanted to.  It was honestly baffling, considering the way he always drew Gimli’s eye right to him.  Still, he was arguably the best choice to scout out any town they came across and Gimli made it his job to accompany him.

He enjoyed time spent with the rest of the Fellowship, but these times when it was just the two of them were still Gimli’s most treasured.  Even if it often meant time in the saddle.  Or lack of saddle, depending on Legs’s mood.

Legs chuckled warmly, shaking his head.  

“Just hang in there for another hour or so, and we’ll get your feet back on the ground,” he said. “Take a quick look around, pick up a few supplies, listen in on any pertinent news, and then we can get back to the fellas.”

Gimli snorted. 

“After another two hours on a horse, you mean.”

“You don't mind spending time with old Arod near half as much as you gripe about it,” Legs replied, giving Gimli an amused look over his shoulder.

Gimli just snorted again, not bothering to reply.

Legolas chuckled, letting the conversation lapse as he started humming a gentle tune.  The easy rise and fall of the melody and even roll of Arod’s gait had an almost hypnotic effect on Gimli, especially after the weeks of hard riding they had behind them.

He had just about been lulled into a sense of peace when there came the now familiar **crack** of gunfire.  An unexpected rush of wind stirred up the hair on Gimli’s head, right where his hat sat only an instant before.  His grip on Legs’s belt went slack in his momentary shock, heart leaping to his throat as it always did during their rare shootouts.  His mind blanked. 

Arod startled, bucking wildly and Gimli had no hope of hanging on as he fumbled for his pistol.  He hit the ground with a painful thud and a groan.  The impact knocked the breath clear out of him and left his ears ringing. There was no doubt that his whole backside would be a mess of bruising at best.  He had the presence of mind to hope that he hadn’t broken anything, because even if his head didn’t have any new holes in it, it sure felt like it was trying to split one open.

Above him, Legs put his all into reigning in Arod’s terror before the horse could bolt, his voice soft and soothing in direct contrast to his strong grip on the reigns.  His braid whipped around wildly as Arod danced, fighting his instinct to flee. 

Gimli had the odd thought that it was rather unfair that Legs hadn’t lost _his_ hat.  That hat had been around longer than Gimli had.  Gimli’s, on the other hand, had been new.  At no point did even a flicker worry enter his mind about the possibility of being trampled.  Legs could handle his horse.

When Arod had finally calmed enough to hold his ground, Legs made to reach for his pistols only to stop short.

“You fellas are going to do as I tell you, or the next shot leaves someone bleeding,” came a firm, unfamiliar voice, “Now get those hands away from that belt.” 

Despite the pain thrumming in his skull, Gimli rolled his head to the side to see their attacker.  It said something about how long he’d been in this part of the world that he didn’t feel any real surprise to see a petite woman astride a sizable palomino, a rifle cocked and aimed their direction in her hands.

Very slowly, Legs lifted his hands, eyes trained on the strange woman.

“Whatever you say, ma’am.  We ain’t lookin’ for any trouble,” he said.  His voice was conciliatory and his expression could almost have been called mild, if it weren’t for his unflinching stare.

“Don’t try anything foolish, Stranger, and you won’t have any,” the woman replied.  Something in the way she held herself and the iron in her voice reminded Gimli of his sister.  Even without the rifle, Gimli had the notion that she wasn’t someone to be messed with.  “Now you’re going to dismount on this side where I can see you, and take a seat by your friend over there while I take a closer look at your horse.”

She motioned towards Gimli with the rifle to make herself clear. 

Legs’s fingers twitched, and Gimli could see his jaw tense.  He knew Legs well enough by now to tell that this wasn’t fear he was seeing, it was tightly leashed rage.

“And if I see your hands get anywhere near those pistols, I swear I will blow your pretty head clean off.”

Legs managed to force his lips into the shape of an obliging smile in the face of her threat.  

“No need for any violence, ma’am.  We're peaceable folk,” he said as he slid from the saddle.  He chanced giving Arod’s flank a brief pat as the gray anxiously pawed at the ground.  

“Just a couple of cowhands passing through in search for work.”  The lie rolled off his tongue smoothly, his hands still up as he strolled over to where Gimli was lying.  It must have taken a lot of effort to keep his manner nonthreatening over the fury simmering beneath his skin.  

Legs could draw faster than a thought, but they were trying to lay low and really did try to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.  Still, bloodshed was looking increasingly more necessary as the woman’s rifle stayed trained on Legs until he took a seat, sitting cross-legged at Gimli’s side. 

The majority of Gimli’s body was firmly against moving ever again and his head felt like a smith’s anvil, but nevertheless he groped until his hand found Legs’s thigh to give it a comforting squeeze. 

Legs gave him the briefest grateful smile in return, before focusing his attention back on the gun wielding woman. 

“Same goes for you,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Gimli’s hand.  “Don’t get any ideas about going for a gun.”

As if he could’ve shot the broadside of a barn with the way his head was swimming.  Still, best not to test the stranger, so Gimli removed his hand with a frustrated huff.

The woman dismounted her horse with practiced ease.  Her well worn boots scuffed against the dry earth as she circled around towards Arod.  She kept both her gun and eyes on the pair of them the entire way. 

“Now here’s how this is going to go,” she said, “I’m going to take a look at your horse’s brand, and if I like what I see we won’t have any problems.”  Her expression turned stony.  “If I don’t like the brand I see… well, that’s a different story.”

“Then we shouldn’t have no problems at all,” Legs replied, a touch of irritation seeping into his voice, “‘cause my horse _ain’t_ branded!”

“We’ll see,” she said evenly, coming up to Arod’s side.  Arod’s ears flickered, uncertain of this strange human, but he didn’t shy away as she checked over his flank where a brand would be.  

After a moment of scrutiny she lowered her rifle.

“Huh, he really isn’t branded,” she commented to herself.  The tension in her frame dissipated, leaving her looking wrongfooted and far younger than she had seemed staring down the barrel of a rifle.  She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“It appears that I’ve made some mistaken assumptions about your identities,” she admitted.

“That mean I can put my hands down?” Legs asked pointedly.

The woman grimaced, face coloring with embarrassment. 

“Go ahead,” she replied, “I’ve got no quarrel with you.  In fact, I’ll have to ask your forgiveness for my less than kindly welcome.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Gimli mumbled, having finally found his tongue again.  Legs just let his hands drop with a relieved sigh. 

He took a second to shake out his wrists before turning his attention to Gimli.  Calloused fingers lightly ran over Gimli’s head and neck, checking him for broken bones.

Gimli batted his hands away before they could drift any lower.  Sure he was hurting now, but he’d had worse.  In fact, he’d probably had worse learning how to ride in the first place. 

“Don’t start fussing.  I’ll be fine once I’ve had a minute to get my breath back.”

He carefully sat up, Legs’s hands hovering in case he needed to lie down again.  Gimli’s whole body protested the movement, and he hated to think what his back would look like in a day.

The woman winced in sympathy, approaching the pair.

“Let me make my amends by taking you someplace to get looked over,” she said, tucking a lock of cornsilk colored hair behind her ear.

“Throw in a drink, and I’ll call us even,” Gimli replied, mustering up a charming smile.

Legs gave him a look that clearly said he didn’t agree, and Gimli returned it with a look of his own urging him to play nice.  Legs rolled his eyes in a manner that said he still wasn’t pleased, but would follow Gimli’s lead. 

It was nice to have a rapport.

Their silent conversation seemed to go unnoticed by the young woman.  She simply held out a hand in greeting.

“Let me try this again.  Name’s Eowyn Eorlsen, but most folks around here call me Wynnie. We’re not too far from the edge of my property here.”

Gimli gave her hand a firm shake.

“Gimli O’Reily,” he replied.  It was natural as could be to give the false surname at this point.  The authorities had yet to connect the most recent member of the Fellowship Gang with the poor, hapless immigrant who went missing after that terrible trainwreck two years ago.  The wanted posters simply called him “Lucky Red”.  As such, Gimli was very comfortable using his given name.

He still had no clue what Legs’s given name was.

“Lee,” Legs offered, tipping his hat cordially.  He eyed the rifle held loosely in Eowyn’s grip.  “And I tell you, right now I’m just mighty pleased to not be one of them unfortunate souls you thought we were.”

“Who _did_ you think we were?” Gimli asked.

Eowyn’s expression darkened. 

“Bandits,” she spat.  “Horse thieves.”

Gimli very carefully didn’t look at Legs.

“Bandits, you say?” 

He was proud that he kept his voice level.

Eowyn nodded grimly.

“People around here have got good reason to be wary of strangers.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell there,” Legs commented.

Eowyn ran a hand over her hair, turning towards her horse with a sigh. 

“It’s a long one,” she said, motioning the palomino over.  “I’ll tell you on the way into town.”

There was something in the tone of her voice.  Something bitter and downcast that spoke more than the words themselves.  Gimli met Legs’s eyes as he helped him to his feet, passing a sober look between them, but didn’t comment.

Gimli rubbed a hand over his aching spine as Legs whistled for Arod.  He was going to be feeling that fall for a week.

An amused snort caught his attention. 

Legs was biting the inside of his cheek, visibly trying to hold back his laughter as Arod trotted over, placidly munching on the remains of Gimli’s mangled hat.

Insult to injury, that’s what it was.

Gimli just had to hope he could find a new one in town.

 

 


End file.
